Faithful Catholic or modern-day pharisee? Sometimes I might be a bit of both.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

The King of Your Life—Christ the King Sunday (Cycle C)

Samuel 5:1–3;
Colossians 1:12–20; Luke 23:35–43

Today is the
last Sunday of Ordinary time—Christ the King Sunday. I think it couldn't have
come at a better time—a little reminder for us that, regardless of who sits in
the White House, regardless of how bleak the world may look at one time or
another, Christ is still Lord and King. I rest better knowing that.

Our Liturgy
of the Word is a study in contrasts this week—from the cosmological grandeur of
Christ the King in Colossians, to the temporal kingship of David in ancient
Israel, to the utter worldly defeat of Jesus on the cross. What strikingly
dissimilar images the first two present compared to the last. It underscores one
point. When it comes to understanding God's plan, we always seem to get it
wrong.

Why is that?
Just a few weeks ago on All Saints Day, we read from Matthew 5, the Beatitudes,
where Jesus tell us that we are blessed when we are persecuted, when we mourn,
when we are poor in spirit. He tells us repeatedly to pick up our cross, a sign
of condemnation and humiliation, and to follow Him. Jesus sets our expectations
for worldly failure, yet we constantly expect the opposite.

Now, I can
see why we misunderstand. We've been doing so throughout human history. Think of
how pagan cultures had this concept of assuaging the wrath of the gods through
more and more sacrifice: sacrifice of animals but even of their own offspring—as
if somehow this pleased whatever god they thought ruled their land. Their
collective thought was that they would be happy so long as they kept the gods
happy. When they saw good results, the gods were smiling on them. When things went
wrong, the gods were angry with them.

Sometimes we
think of our God the same way. Wealth is a sign of someone's favor with God,
while poverty is simply a sign that someone is reprobate. Our nation's Puritan
forebears really wove that notion deeply into the fabric of our nation.

But that is
not the gospel message. That isn't what Christ offered to us in the here and
now. Our victory only comes after what J.R.R. Tolkien called the long defeat.
Tolkien was deeply Catholic and a professor of Anglo-Saxon studies at Oxford. And
like all pagan mythologies, Anglo-Saxon mythology ultimately always ends in defeat,
which is death. In a culture without a redeemer, there can be nothing else. In
a culture where our actions supposedly bring about our material redemption, such
redemption is always simply another delay... another postponement of the long
defeat.

Does this
approach seem pessimistic or self-defeating to you? It's certainly counterintuitive.
It goes against the way our culture thinks. We as Americans expect that our
hard work leads to reward in our earthly lives. But salvation is not about
temporal fulfillment. It's not about the prosperity gospel—which, by the way,
is not a Christian gospel.

As Tolkien
intimated, we have no victory until after the long defeat. We can't get to
Easter Sunday without first enduring Good Friday. The gospel passage
exemplifies this today.

Now all four
gospels make reference to Psalm 21—Psalm 22 many other translations—the one
that begins "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" Two of the
four gospels mention the first line of the Psalm, but all four note the mockery
that the Sanhedrin and the people heap upon Jesus: "He saved others;
let him save himself, if he is the Christ of God, his Chosen One!" Compare that to the verse from
the psalm: "He hoped in the Lord, let him deliver him: let him save
him, seeing he delighteth in him."

To them, Jesus'
dilemma confirms His failure. Jesus is crucified! That is as final as it gets
in the pagan world. That's the most humiliating, shameful way to die in the
Jewish world. That is the ultimate sign of power and control in the Roman
world. And this is the heir, the Son of David? Preposterous!

But even in
the darkest moment we see a glimmer of light. The second thief, the one we call
Dismas in Sacred Tradition, says "Lord, remember me when you come into
your kingdom." He is at his very end, yet still he hopes. He recognizes
his need for mercy, and Jesus grants it to him.

God's ways
are not our ways. Jesus knew all along that the path of suffering was also the
path to redemption. His ministry, His mission, was one of reversal, of turning
things on their head. Look at the Magnificat, with its dramatic reversals: He
has cast down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly. Or the
Song of Hannah from 1 Samuel 2: "The bow of the mighty is overcome, and
the weak are girt with strength." Or again in Jesus' own words in Luke 6: "Blessed
are you who hunger; for you shall be filled.... Woe to you who are filled: for
you shall hunger."

Jesus'
defeat of death is the most dramatic reversal. He is Lord of both life and
death. All things were created through Him and for Him. That is what we
celebrate today.

We're in a
contentious moment in our nation's history, and unfortunately, I don't think
we've gotten the message yet. We keep putting our trust in worldly things, in
worldly rulers, even though they fail us time and again. Our own choices, made
with the best intentions, often perpetuate the problem. We truly want a
solution to what ails us, what ails our country and our world, but we are still
too full of the things of this world to let them go and let God be the king of
our lives. We won't find a solution until we recognize the brokenness and weakness
in our lives and our culture. We can pretend to be strong and self sufficient.
We can be proud in the imagination of our hearts, as the Blessed Mother
says in the Magnificat. But Christ the King turns all of those illusions
on their heads.

In the
Eucharist we will share here in a few minutes, we will hear how Christ blesses
the bread, breaks it, and offers His broken body for our redemption. And
through that Eucharist, that offering of our thanksgiving, our brokenness is
healed. Christ the King, who turned back and reversed the effects of sin in our
broken human nature, can heal us and our culture, if we will make Him king of
our lives.

Wha?

I am a cradle Catholic who drifted away in my teens and wandered. My search
for truth led me to study comparative religion, New Age nonsense, and
philosophy. After 20 years as an agnostic, I came back to a faith that I never
really knew, but which I learn and love more daily. My restless heart now only
wishes to rest in Him. I have masters degrees in English and theology, black
belts in Shotokan karate (Ohshima) and Shaolin-Do kung fu, and classical
training in music that I've all but forgotten. I am a deacon for the Roman Catholic Diocese of Boise. This is a personal blog and does not represent the official views of my parish or diocese.

Coalition for Clarity

Coalition for Clarity

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